The Seventh Friend
by bobtherat
Summary: What if Mike had lived next to Chandler's and Joey's? What if he had spent his days raiding Monica's fridge and sitting through the Ross and Rachel lobster fights? What if he was a Central Perk mainstay with the woman who would become the love of his life and her best friends? What if Mike had been a part of the gang all along? *includes all main characters after prologue*
1. Prologue: Mike in the 12th Year After

**Author's Note:** This is an AU Friends story written in Mike Hannigan's POV. All chapters following the prologue would include all main characters and some recurring characters, and would be based pretty much on random episodes. Please bear with me as there are not a lot of stories with Mike and he is arguably my favorite recurring character. Oh, and I love Phoebe the most. The other five tie in second place.

#

Mike let out a little whistle as he fished for the keys inside his briefcase, smiling as he heard the notes to Paul McCartney's 'Here, There, and Everywhere' from his own mouth instead of his head where it had been playing all day. It wasn't very easy, digging through an overly stuffed bag for a tiny piece of metal, especially when he was hugging a pot of orchids to his chest at the same time, but he didn't mind. He was already happy just getting home, and knowing that if he stood in front of the apartment long enough, somebody was bound to come and open the door. It took a couple minutes but the key finally brushed against his fingers and he took it out. ' _Changing my life with a wave of her hand,_ ' he inserted the key into the knob, singing quietly as he did. The door swung open before he could even turn to unlock it.

"Dada!"

Mike heard the excited squeal and suddenly, a pair of arms were clinging onto his right leg. _Home sweet home._

"Hi, Soph!" he trudged into the apartment, smiling wide at the toddler attached to his leg and dragging the extra weight along with a mild grunt.

"Hey, Dad! _Hey, dad-man_ ," another voice drawled, drifting into melody. Mike looked up to see MJ walking toward him. The boy had a guitar slung over his shoulder and was wearing denim pants and a loose chain around his neck besides nothing else. He swished his thick brown mane around for a second before tucking a lock of it behind his ear.

"Hey, little naked son-man," Mike noted his rather daring get-up. "Could you give me a hand with these please?," he said, struggling with his briefcase and the flower pot.

MJ reached over. " _Naked Sunman…,_ " he drawled thoughtfully, grabbing his father's briefcase and setting it down by the console. "That's a really cool title, dad," he took the orchids carefully into both hands. "These for mom?"

"You bet," Mike said, crouching a little to pick up Sophie. The little girl clung to her father possessively.

"Sweet," MJ nodded, absentmindedly. He set the flowers on top of the console and gave his father a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the couch to pick at his guitar.

Mike snickered and turned his attention to the three-year-old in his arms. "Hi, angel," he whispered, pushing the curly tufts of yellow hair away from her eyes before kissing her on the cheek. "Mwah!," he beamed at his giggling daughter. "Can dada get a kiss, too?"

"Mwah!," Sophie grinned cheekily, mimicking him.

"Thank you," he said as he tickled her on the neck.

"You… welcome…" she giggled.

Mike turned around to get his key back and close the door with Sophie still in his arms.

"Hi, honey!"

He turned back, not quite able to help but beam at the sight of Phoebe walking toward him.

"Hey, babe."

She rested against him, her hands settling on his chest. Mike wrapped his free arm around her and leaned in, but she turned away just as he was about to give her a kiss.

"Hey, Jim Morrison," Phoebe shifted her attention to the currently oblivious ten-year-old on the couch. "Go to your room and put a shirt on," she said sternly.

" _But there is no freedom in this world, he said, the naked sunman said, no freedom, we ain't got no freedom…_ " MJ carried on playing his guitar.

"Dinner's in five minutes and you're not having any if you don't go and put a shirt on like I said now."

MJ got off the couch in a beat, but still playing as he walked up the stairs to his room. " _Oh he said, please, mama, don't be so cruel. Please, please don't…_ "

"I didn't know we were having Jim Morrison over for dinner," Mike asked his wife playfully as the music faded upstairs.

"Yea, I know," Phoebe huffed. "Well, I don't care if he's famous. No one's having dinner at my house without a shirt on."

Mike chuckled and leaned in to give her a tender kiss.

"Oh…" Phoebe sighed when he pulled back slightly. She smiled wide, staring into his eyes.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi, yours-" Phoebe cut away as Mike started kissing her again.

"Mmm…happy…mmm…anniversary…mmm…eve…mmm," she squeezed words in between. Mike was not loosening his embrace enough for her to pull away.

"Uh-oh."

They stopped when they heard their daughter whisper. Her little hands were covering her eyes.

"Oh no," Phoebe pulled back. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Mummy and Daddy are sorry," she cupped Sophie's face gently.

"Right, no need to see how much Mummy and Daddy love each other," Mike set Sophie back down and she immediately waddled away, shaking her head as she tottered to her play pen just a couple of steps from her astonished parents. She had her back turned to them like a disapproving adult.

Phoebe sighed. "I swear, sometimes, I feel like she's the tiny version of your mother," she stared at her daughter, a mix of awe and discomfort painted on her face.

Mike let out a laugh and pulled her back into an embrace. "Good thing, she got almost everything else from you," he gave her one more tender kiss before picking up the plant he'd brought home. "I got you something."

Phoebe smiled wide as he showed her the orchids. "Oh, honey, these are pretty! And they're in a pot, yay, they're not dead!"

#

Mike stared at the ceiling distractedly as he crashed back into the comforter, panting. He struggled a little to swallow whatever breath he could to calm his deeply heaving chest, his vision still slipping in and out of black. He could almost feel his heart palpitating against the floor.

He turned over to his side and smiled as he watched his wife having just as much difficulty.

Phoebe giggled. "How was that?," she asked breathlessly.

Mike draped his arm around her stomach and pulled her in, lifting her up a bit so she was lying on top of him. He shut his eyes tight as he felt her slick, sweaty body meld with his own, her long hair cascading down and brushing against his cheeks, their heavy breaths syncing with each other. Phoebe rested her forehead on top of his.

"I didn't even know any of that was possible" he finally said.

"Well, now you know," Phoebe cupped both her hands on his face and brushed her lips against his. She moved to get off him but he held her in place.

"No, no, wait, don't move yet."

"Honey, we've gone four times," Phoebe laughed. "You have an early thing at the studio tomorrow, remember?"

Mike sighed, conceding reluctantly. "You're right. Okay."

Phoebe slid off him and stood up. He stayed back, watching with a satisfied grin as she strode completely naked toward the bed. He crashed right next to her soon after. He slipped into the covers and spooned her, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, exhaling contentedly.

Outside the window, Manhattan was as alive as always. The lights from the buildings painting the dark sky with streaks of varying colors and the noise, though muted behind the glass, still droned faintly in the background.

Mike felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him.

"You know something?" Phoebe turned back suddenly, snapping him out of it. "I've never seen a falling star in New York in, like, twelve years."

"Yea?"

"Mm-hmm. The last time I saw one, I was walking in Central Park with David, you know, my ex-boyfriend, David?"

Mike coughed upon hearing the name.

"He was holding my hand when I saw it flash quickly across the sky…" she continued anyway.

Mike tried suppressing his annoyance with how his wife's story was going.

"Do you know what I wished for?"

"I don't know. What did you wish for?"

She sighed dreamily. "I wished I was holding hands with you."

Mike felt his heart swell with happiness, as he searched his head for what to say. His breath caught in his throat, her green eyes twinkling as they stared at him in the blue darkness.

"I guess I just haven't noticed the stars that have fallen for the last twelve years because I've already gotten everything I can possibly wish for," she carried on. "A husband who's pretty much a rock star, a son who's going to be a rock star, and a daughter who will grow up to be the lawyer of rock stars."

He beamed, genuinely happy hearing how Phoebe summed up their life and knowing she was right. His mind flashed back to two years ago – to the worst-turned-best day of his life. The mounting bills, the eviction notice under the apartment door, the email from some guy representing The Foo Fighters saying they chose to not sign the contract and to not do the record at his then-unknown recording studio. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table and Phoebe's hand massaging his back, her voice telling him it was going to be alright, but knowing she was holding back her tears as well. He remembered MJ, just eight years old then, walking into the room with an iPad in his little hands, how his face was lit up with absolute glee as he squealed excitedly, ' _Daddy, Mommy, listen, listen!_ ' He remembered the remix, his wife's singing voice in a collection of her old recordings, the unbelievably innovative beat, the names of underground music critics underneath headlines declaring Michael Jonah Hannigan II as the next best producer in the independent scene. He remembered when the worst morning of his life turned into the best day he could ever imagine, with his son single-handedly saving their recording studio as the remix collection got a hundred thousand downloads in a span of ten hours; the phone calls that followed from independent bands, some he recognized, some he didn't, trying to book a schedule; how he chanced upon Phoebe lulling Sophie to sleep with one of his old law books and how, just before his one-year-old daughter drifted off, she murmured her first word ever. _Parole._

The red numbers on the digital clock sitting atop his night stand blinked 12:01.

"Happy 12th anniversary, Mikey," Phoebe whispered, bringing him back from his reverie.

"Happy 12th anniversary, Phoeb," he kissed her tenderly, gently taking her hand and placing it on his chest. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she giggled. "I love you more."

He grinned. "Still not possible," he said, drowning any more of her words before she could say them with another kiss.

' _If I had to wish right now, do you know what I would wish for? I wish I knew you before I even thought I could love anybody else. I wish I hadn't spent nine years of my life seeing marriage as a miserable, pointless, hateful thing. I wish I had you before I had you, so that I'd share more memories of being with you. I wish right now was always what I had, and that always what I'd wish for, was always to be with you.'_

The words fell in place in his head as they both drifted off to sleep.

Outside, a falling star flashed across the sky, its streak disappearing behind the city lights after a brief second.


	2. C1: Mike Almost Helps in the Proposal

**CHAPTER 1: MIKE ALMOST HELPS IN THE PROPOSAL**

 **(loosely based on 'The One with the Proposal')**

Chandler crashed with his back against the bare wall, his eyes staring out into space as he slid down slowly to the floor. Joey paused from pacing and Mike stood up from the couch, tossing his phone behind him onto the cushions, both at a loss for a moment upon realizing what just happened.

"Dude," Joey finally started, "there was fresh paint on that wall."

Chandler continued staring into space, unmoving. "I-I don't care."

Joey looked at Mike, expecting some back up. Or at least concern for the man-shaped smear over his wall. The latter waved it off. The smear was okay. The man responsible for it, though, wasn't.

"Chandler," Mike walked over to help him get up, "what is the big problem here? So Richard showed up, so what? Why should you be worried about some guy Monica broke up with ages ago?"

"Yea," Joey agreed. "Monica is in love with _you_. She chose you, man. She dumped Richard, remember? Why would you let him throw you off your game?"

Chandler remained stoic, his eyes darting from Joey to Mike. "You guys don't understand this, okay? You just—you didn't see the look on her face when that guy walked into the restaurant. I just…" he gritted his teeth, infuriated. "And the worst part of it is that, this was supposed to be _our_ night. _Our_ night—mine and hers. We were supposed to go home, happy, and—and engaged. I'm supposed to be home with her as my fiancée right now and instead I'm… here… with paint on my back. I c…"

He crashed onto the couch with his face buried in his hands. "I'm just so frustrated."

Joey rushed over to sit next to him, opening his mouth to say something but no words came. He patted Chandler on the back, resting his hand there as a show of sympathy. It was the most anybody could do at the moment.

A knock came on the door. "Hello? Anybody home?" Ross called out from outside the apartment. Mike hurriedly let him in.

"Hey, no one was at the coffee shop or at Joey and Chandler's so-"

Ross noted the two sitting on the couch. "Hey," he laughed weakly, shifting his attention back to Mike. "What's—what's going on?"

"Chandler didn't get to propose tonight."

"What? Why not? What happened?"

"Richard. He showed up at the restaurant," Mike's voice sounded defeated.

Ross looked at Joey, as if confirming what he'd just heard. Joey weakly nodded his head.

"No, Chandler," Ross walked toward the couch and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I'm so sorry, man," he sighed. "And you have paint all over your back."

"I know, Ross," Chandler mumbled through his hands.

Mike paced. From the corner of his eye, he could see his phone blinking by the cushions and his own head racing. Not just from what was happening in his apartment at the very moment.

"You know, I don't even know what we should be sorry about. This is your call, Chandler, not Richard's. You're the one who's still with her. You're the one who's got the ring. _You_ go ahead with _your_ plan," Mike finally said, surprising even himself with his own conviction.

"What plan?" Chandler stood up. "Huh? What plan? What, you want me to go ahead and ask her to marry me and just, for the rest of my life, wonder if she still thinks about Richard? If-if-if she thinks about how her life could've been if she'd chosen Richard instead of me?"

"Chand, Monica loves _you_ ," Joey nudged his friend's arm.

Ross nodded. "Yea, he's right. Monica loves _you_. I mean, sure, she loved Richard at one point in her life but that's in the past, you know, and _you_ —" he pointed to Chandler, "You're giving her the present and the future that she deserves."

He smiled before changing his demeanor to something more serious. "I mean, you _will_ give my little sister that, right?"

Chandler shrugged, feeling a little better at the support. "Of course, I'll give her that, Ross. I love her more than anything in the world."

Ross smiled at the sincerity in his friend's voice and gave him a hug, pulling away when he realized he had paint all over his sleeves as well.

"You know what you need now, man?" Mike walked over to the fridge and took out a six-pack. "You need to change the plan," he said, tossing a can over to each of them.

"Phoebe actually suggested that I distract her. You know, make her think that I wasn't at all interested in getting married so that it would still come off as a surprise," Chandler popped the tab off and took a sip.

"That's good. That seems okay," the other two agreed.

"Then…?" Mike asked, hoping Chandler would continue his sentence.

"I don't know. See, I don't know. Should I do it at the restaurant again?" Chandler looked uncertain.

"Hey, how about erm—how about Washington Square Park?" Mike replied. "There's the arch and the lights and the street musicians? Could be good, right, guys?" he looked over for approval.

"That sounds great!" Joey exclaimed.

"Hey, and you know what, we can help you set it up," Ross cut in.

"Really? You guys would do that for me?" Chandler smiled, genuinely thankful.

Mike patted him on the back. "Hey, man, whatever you need."

"Yea, whatever you need to win her, Chand, we're right here."

"Yea, anything for you to not screw this up because, you know, this is Monica we're talking about. My little sister. You _cannot_ screw this up," Ross brought his tone down again, feigning seriousness, before gulping down the rest of his beer.

Another knock came on the door. "Chandler? Honey, are you in there?"

Mike came over to answer Monica. Phoebe and Rachel were standing next to her.

"Hey, guys," he smiled at the three of them.

"Hey, Mike," Monica smiled back before turning her attention to Chandler. She noticed the white specks of paint on his shirt. "Honey, what is all over your shirt?"

"Nothing," Chandler immediately answered.

"Oh, wow, look-" Phoebe piped up, entering the apartment and pointing to the smear on the wall. "I never knew you could paint, Mike."

The four guys struggled for words.

"Wow, this is deep, huh? Look at the angst in this," she continued.

"Is that…" Monica turned her boyfriend around, not quite able to hide the look of horror on her face at the sight that greeted her. "Chandler, you have paint all over yourself!" she exclaimed.

"Does anyone _else_ want to tell me that right now?"

"Ooh… somebody's in trouble," Rachel whispered. Chandler rolled his eyes.

"It's my fault, Mon. I shoved him accidentally into the wall and he tripped. I'm sorry," Joey offered. "I'll make sure not to do it again next time. I promise."

Chandler said a silent thank you behind his girlfriend. Monica sighed.

"This is going to take forever to come off. I don't know if it would even—"

"Honey, honey, why don't we just go home and worry about it in the morning, huh?" Chandler kissed her and she calmed down a little. "Thanks, you guys, we'll see you tomorrow," he said as he led Monica to the door. He looked back a little and the other three guys waved him off knowing full well what he meant.

Joey stood up almost immediately after. "Yea, I better head off, too. I might have an audition tomorrow morning."

"What do you mean you _might_ have an audition?" Rachel asked. "Estelle called you this afternoon. You _do_ have an audition for that play, remember?"

"See, now, there you go," Joey laid his hands out. "Gotta hit the sack so these babies don't look bad in the morning," he said pointing to his eyes. "See you guys later. Rach, you coming?"

"Yea," she called out after him. "I gotta go before he accidentally locks the door on me again. Good night, you guys." She turned and gave Phoebe a quick hug, "I had fun tonight, Phoebs. Thank you."

Mike closed the door and turned to the two guests left.

"You guys want to hang back?"

"I don't mind," Phoebe made herself comfortable on one of the armchairs.

He grinned, a little shyly. "Erm—you, you want a drink, Phoeb?"

"Please," she smiled back at him.

Mike stumbled quickly to the fridge.

"So, erm—what have you guys been chitchatting here about?" Phoebe asked.

"Nothing much. Just, you know, helping Chandler set his plan back in motion," Mike said, handing her an orange soda.

"Oh, that—yea. Oh, that's really nice of you," she replied, taking a sip. "Chandler was really bummed about it but it's great that you guys are helping him out. So, what did you come up with?"

"Mike suggested he do it at Washington Square Park," Ross piped up. "We thought that could be kinda cool, huh? What do you think, Phoebs?"

"Oh, yeah, that sounds like fun!" she exclaimed. "'Cause with the lights and the fountain and the arch, ooh, that could be romantic! And you can get erm—like, the street musicians…"

Mike let out a little laugh at her enthusiasm. Plus, the fact that she seemed to know exactly what he had in mind.

"Hey, that's exactly what he said!" Ross gaped. He paused suddenly, but neither of the other two noticed.

"Actually, Mike, erm—can I stay at yours for… just for tonight 'cause… well, I wanted to give Chandler and Monica some space after what happened… could I?"

"Sure, of course, Phoeb," Mike heard the inflection in his voice change abruptly. He was just hoping she didn't notice how eager he sounded.

"Thank you," Phoebe replied sweetly, smiling at him. He almost didn't want to think too much of it and yet, there he was, trying to read her. "I'll just go get some stuff and—"

"Er—Mike, your phone's been vibrating like crazy," Ross interjected. "I think someone's calling."

Mike paused. "No, no, it's fine. I don't need to… it's no one important." He snatched his phone away from Ross and accidentally pressed speaker phone on.

" _Mike? Are you there? It's me. Hello? Can you hear me?"_

Phoebe's face fell. "Erm—yea, I need to—er…"

"Is that your wife on the phone?" Ross whispered.

Mike tried his hardest not to do more than glance at Phoebe just to get a reaction.

"Yea, it's erm—" Mike said, weakly. "Just a second, you guys, okay? I'll just…"

"No, it's okay. I'll just head back to my room. It was a... it was a dumb idea anyway so… well, I'll see you tomorrow, Ross and er—Mike…"

" _Hello, Mike? Are you there?_ "

"…you should really get that," Phoebe headed out, disappearing into the other apartment.

#

Mike knocked on the door, still clutching his luggage in one hand. It took a couple of seconds before Rachel came out to greet him.

"Hey, Rach," he said as he gave her a hug.

"Mike! You're back!" she gestured for him to come in. "Welcome to future Mr. and Mrs. Bing's apartment."

He was greeted by a chorus of 'Hey, Mike's from Ross and Joey. Chandler and Monica walked over to give him a hug.

"Hey, Mike, welcome back!" she said, taking his hands into hers.

"So, it's official, huh?" he beamed at her, raising her hand so he could look at the ring. "It's beautiful. I'm so happy for you guys."

"It didn't happen at Washington Square Park but it was—" Monica sighed, "—still no less than perfect." She walked back over to her fiancé and gave him a quick kiss.

"We're sorry you couldn't make it, bud," Chandler reassured him. "For all its worth, our plan could've been great, too."

"Don't think about it anymore, man," Mike walked over and set his stuff down by the couch. "This right here, _this_ is what matters."

Monica and Chandler smiled at him as everyone nodded in agreement. Chandler put his arm around his fiancée and gave her another tender kiss.

"Aww, you guys," Rachel gushed, pausing for more words. "This is just so… _ugh_ … well, okay, you get a couple more days before the sweetness gets just a tad too much."

"Anyway, so, what happened in Chicago with you and Carrie?" Joey started just as Mike plopped down on the couch.

Mike hesitated, but figured he would have to talk about it sometime. _Might as well do it right now._

"Nothing new."

"Wha—what do you mean nothing new?" Ross asked.

"Yea, does she still want you to go back there? Does she want you to join the firm again? What?" Joey interrupted him before he could answer.

"I don't know you, guys. I—she doesn't know what she wants," Mike paused. "And neither do I."

He sighed sharply. "I know that I don't want my job back in Chicago. I'm doing fine here. I mean, at some point, I know I want to leave my practice. But until I get to that point, I'm fine being a lawyer here in New York. And—and with her, I just…" he rubbed his eyes before letting out a deep breath. "I promised myself that if I ever get married, it would be once. Just once in my entire life. And I promised myself that I would never get divorced—"

"I know _exactly_ how you feel. I mean, I—" Ross stopped quickly when he realized everyone else was glaring at him.

"—but I can't stay married to her anymore. I—I don't…"

Phoebe walked into the living room, unexpectedly, fidgeting with her shirt. "Monica, have you seen my—"

Mike felt the words slip out of his mouth quietly as she lifted her head and immediately locked eyes with him.

" _…love her_."


	3. C2: Mike Almost Misses Phoebe's Birthday

**CHAPTER 2: MIKE ALMOST MISSES PHOEBE'S BIRTHDAY**

 **(loosely based on 'The One Where They All Turn Thirty')**

Joey watched, mouth agape in awe, as the mozzarella dripped in stringy goodness over the sides of the pizza. He held it to his face and nodded his head once, his lips forming a lopsided grin, but not for long. _How you doin'?_

It was almost a production seeing him like this around food. And the only other time he would use that line – around women – was just as disturbing.

"Joe, would you please just take a bite already so I can start…" Mike paused midway, realizing he had already lost Joey in a frenzy. The guy was moaning with his eyes closed and half the slice stuffed in his mouth. "…eating?"

He snickered and picked up a slice, himself, watching Joey devour another one immediately after the other. Suddenly felt more like a marathon than late dinner, he thought. His watch clicked 5 AM and this was the most he could do to celebrate after eighteen hours of sitting around, waiting for his flight to get _un_ delayed and sitting between a screeching baby and some guy who couldn't stop belching. Eighteen hours, he had been sitting with his mind racing, wondering if that one drunken message he had sent the night before had made its way to its intended receiver. Wondering what she thought and if he would ever hear back soon. Now, he was sitting on the floor of his apartment with a case of beers and two boxes of pizza and Joey. He would have preferred something different, but this was the most he could possibly get at this hour.

Joey stopped and looked at him just after finishing three-quarters of the first box. Mike wolfed down the rest of his second slice and pulled the second box readily.

"Here, no worries, man, we got the Joey special," he said, flipping the top open and laying it on the floor.

"Mike," Joey smirked, meaningfully, "happy birthday, man."

He pulled his friend into a hug, patting him on the back with his oily hands. Mike could only laugh weakly, touched as he was by the gesture. He mumbled a quiet thank you but heard a snuffle in reply and realized Joey had started crying. Loudly, in fact.

"What's wrong, Joe?" he asked, pulling away.

Joey wiped his eyes with a sleeve. "It's just… you're 30 years old, man," he covered his eyes with his arm again. "And in a couple months, Ross is gonna turn 30 and then me and Phoebe and Chandler and…" he stifled back a sob, "we're all growing so old!"

He crossed his arms in front of himself and buried his face, spluttering. Mike wiped his hands on his pants and hugged his friend again.

"It's okay, Joe. You're gunna be fine," he said, gently patting him on the shoulder.

"I'm…just so…happy…you spent your birthday with me, man!" Joey sniffled.

"You smelled the pizza all the way over here. And my birthday was over five hours ago."

"STOP RUINING THE MOMENT!" Joey exclaimed, bursting into sobs again.

Mike held him patiently, his cries fading soon after.

"Better?" he asked when Joey pulled away.

"Yea, I'm good, I'm good," Joey replied, snatching the pizza box away just as Mike was reaching in for a slice. "You're hogging all the food, man," he glared at Mike sternly before taking a chomp.

"I thought you were okay with us sharing the pizza tonight? Birthday guy, remember?"

"Your birthday was over five hours ago!" Joey replied through a mouthful.

Mike retreated calmly, finishing the remainder of the first box instead, lest he invoke the wrath of Joey. He smiled fondly as he watched his friend devour the pizza all by himself. _You would_ definitely _regret that later in the morning, Joe_ , he thought quietly.

"Ouch!"

The two of them stopped abruptly. Someone tripped in the hall, they were sure of it.

"Did you hear that?" Joey asked, fright apparent on his face.

Mike nodded and stood up, heart beating like crazy but maybe not for the same reasons as Joey's. _Could she have gotten his message?_

"Ugh, son of a bitch!"

"Phoebs?" Joey opened the door as soon as he recognized the voice. "Phoebs!," he cried out when he saw her, tossing the pizza carelessly back toward the box. He and Mike raced to the door, briefly getting caught as they tried to get out at the same time.

She sat on the floor, her eyes lost in a daze as she retreated against Monica and Chandler's door, hugging her knees to her chest and still in her pajamas.

"Oh, no," Mike whispered, he and Joey rushing to her side.

"Did she-," Joey didn't have to finish his question before Mike nodded. "Jeez, I thought she's taking something for that now."

Mike gently stroke her face to wake her. "Phoebe? Wake up," he shook her shoulders slightly. "Please, Phoebe, wake up…"

"Huh? Joey?" she stirred. Mike felt a stabbing sensation in his chest. Something shone in her eyes before they suddenly opened wide in panic. "Joey! JOEY!"

Joey shoved Mike away and held her in his arms. "I'm right here, Phoebs. I'm right here," he rocked her gently, soothing her.

Mike didn't know what to do or say but the stabbing sensation just got more intense, even when Joey looked at him and mouthed 'sorry.'

"Ssh, it's okay, Phoebs. I'm here," he whispered.

"Hmm? Joey? Am I…" she roused awake. "Where am I?"

"You sleepwalked all the way over here," he continued rocking her gently.

Phoebe looked to her other side, her face lighting up immediately. "Mike! Oh, Mike!" she almost leaped from Joey's arms and threw herself around Mike, hugging him tightly. The stabbing sensation in Mike's chest disappeared completely.

"Hi, Phoeb," he laughed, hugging her tightly back.

"You're here! When did you get here? And…" she pulled away and grabbed his hands. "You have both your hands! Oh!" she embraced him again. "I dreamt that Joey had eaten both your hands."

"Wait, what?" Joey backed a step away, terrified. "I wouldn't do that!"

Phoebe shrugged. "I know you wouldn't, honey, it was just a dream," she stood up and Mike followed suit. "And anyway, it actually means you guys are really good friends," she pointed to the two of them.

"Sorry, how was tha—," Mike tried to clarify but Joey interrupted before he can finish.

"Then, why did you look so scared?"

"I'm a vegetarian, remember?" she shook her head and shifted her attention to her pajamas. "Great, now I'm filthy," she said, bending slightly to brush the dirt off her pajama pants with her fingers. "What time is it?"

"5:30, I think" Joey replied.

"5:45, Joe," Mike interjected.

"Hey, Phoebs!," Joey suddenly cried out, "you're just in time for Mike's post-birthday bash. We have pizza and beer inside," he pointed to Mike's apartment.

"Oh, that's right!" Phoebe exclaimed. "Happy day-after-your-birthday, Mike!"

She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him. He mumbled back 'thank you,' smiling. Any hope that she received his message two nights before, practically gone. Phoebe pulled away and slapped him on the arm. "That's for not spending your _actual_ birthday with us."

"I know, I'm sorry, Phoeb. Delayed flight."

"I know, but you could've called."

 _I did. I called you_ , he thought to himself. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she smiled sweetly at him and embraced him again.

"Hey, how come I don't get any of the love around here?" Joey wrapped his arms around both of them in a bear hug.

Monica and Chandler's door swung open and the two appeared in the doorway with their robes on.

"Guys, what is going on out here?" Chandler rubbed his eyes. "It's Saturday. And it's not even 6 yet."

Monica yawned sleepily beside him before shaking her head and opening her eyes wide. "Alright, I'm up, and there better be a good reason for this!"

"Sorry, guys, we didn't mean to wake you, we just…" Mike trailed off, realizing he was still entangled with the other two. He pulled away, incidentally bringing Phoebe with him. He didn't bother detaching himself from her. "We were celebrating."

Phoebe took the initiative, letting go. He felt a little disappointed.

"Today's Mike's day-after-his-birthday bash!" she cried happily.

"What?" Monica and Chandler looked at her, confused.

"We have pizza and beer inside!" Joey piped up.

"No, we have two beers and a slice of pizza inside, Joe," Mike smirked. "Sorry, we woke you up," he turned to the other two.

"Alright," Rachel's voice crept up behind them. "Whoever won't stop talking better shut up now and let me sleep!" Her eyes were closed and she was leaning on the doorframe, exasperation wrinkled across her forehead. A chorus of 'Sorry, Rach's answered her.

"Fine, I'm going to sleep so everyone just SSHH!" she turned to make her way back into Joey's apartment.

"Wow, I can't believe I'm up this early. I've never been up before sunrise," Joey laid out his hands, completely impressed with himself. "I think I'm gunna go to bed," he walked into Mike's apartment and emerged with the remaining slice of pizza. "After I finish this."

"Yea, that's a good idea. Good night, you guys," Chandler led Monica in so he could close the door.

"Wait, no, I can't go back to sleep now. I'm up," she looked at her husband, expectantly.

Chandler made a face and turned to the other three in the hall. "Thank you," he said, sarcasm written all over him.

"Yea, well, I gotta go change. These pajamas are useless," Phoebe looked at her sleeves. " _Ugh._ Anyway, so, I'll see you guys later." She turned away but Mike caught her hand.

"No, wait," the words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could even think. "We can still celebrate."

She looked back at him, curious.

"You can stay and we er- we can watch the sunrise," he stammered, before realizing he might be giving himself away too easily. Phoebe was not reacting at all the way he thought she would. "All of us…" he recovered, "we can all watch the sunrise."

"That's a great idea!" Joey cried out. Rachel ordered him to quiet down from the other apartment and he returned to wolfing down the rest of his pizza.

"That _is_ a great idea. We haven't done that in a while, huh?" Monica looked up at Chandler, smiling. He smiled back at her, and scowled back at Mike.

"Alright," he retreated briefly into the apartment to grab a blanket. Mike followed suit and so did Joey, dragging a blanket and a sleeping Rachel out with him.

They climbed up to the rooftop and sprawled out with their blankets. Chandler and Monica shared a lounge chair, as did Rachel and Joey. Mike pulled up a bench and motioned for Phoebe to sit with him.

"Oh, this is so nice," Monica cooed, her head resting on Chandler's chest.

"Yea, I think so, too," he replied quietly, kissing her hair. He looked up from their lounge chair at Joey and Rachel who were lying down, backs to each other, both fast asleep with eye masks on.

Mike tilted his head towards Phoebe who had her face raised toward the sky, the faint light starting to glimmer in her golden hair. He might have been smiling way too much. He didn't care. He wanted to move closer to her on the bench and yet, somehow, couldn't.

"Where were you when you made that phone call?" she asked, unexpectedly.

He stammered for a reply. "What… er… phone call? You mean?"

"You called about two days ago. Well, it was your number but some other guy was talking and it was too loud back there."

His mind went blank for an answer. 'Should I tell her now or…I'm still married,' he thought.

"I don't—I don't remember," he lied. "I was at a club, I think." That part was true.

"Well, some guy was talking through your phone then. Although, I think I heard you in the background," she pointed at him briefly. "I think you were talking about how much you love juice."

 _I was talking about how much I love you_.

"You sounded _really_ drunk," she continued.

He laughed weakly. "I was. I was really… drunk."

They went quiet, both at a loss for what to say. The sun began to blanket the city slowly with yellow light, replacing the dark shadows cast by the tall buildings.

"You're almost never here, you know?" Phoebe sighed. "You don't know how much you're missing. Ben's first birthday, last year's thanksgiving, or anyone's birthday last year, Monica and Chandler's engagement…" she counted on her fingers. "I don't even know why we're friends with you, sometimes," she said, a little brutal but earnestly.

Mike laughed weakly. "You're right. Sometimes, I think about that, too."

"You should, you know, you should really think about it. Because…we all really care about you. But you're almost never here," Phoebe shoved him gently on the arm. "You're always too busy. Always flying out somewhere. Always…" she exhaled, "…with your wife."

Mike looked at her. There was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite make out and it made him a little hopeful. Phoebe knew, just like everyone else, what he was going through with his wife, how he felt about her. Or, actually, how he was forcing himself to feel something for her, when in fact, all his feelings were for somebody else. Could it be possible that she was starting to return his feelings?

"Promise me you'll be here on my 30th birthday," her green eyes locked onto his.

He shook his thoughts away. "Of—of course. I'll be here. I wouldn't miss it."

"Shake on it?" she reached out her hand and giggled when he took it.

"Happy birthday, Mike," she smiled at him. "I just really kinda wish we'd all celebrated your _real_ birthday here…"

Mike smiled back at her, reassuringly. "Well, we're all celebrating right now," he whispered to her.

"I don't think they are," she turned to the other four in the lounge chairs. All of them fast asleep.

Mike chuckled and locked his eyes onto Phoebe's once more.

"Well, _we_ are."

#

He rushed past the aisles of people lining the airport exit and raised his hand to hail a cab, heart pounding. He sifted his mind for any ideas on how to surprise her. Show up at Central Perk? Her apartment? Take her somewhere nice? She'd want something spontaneous, he thought. But this seemed to be spontaneous enough, right? He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, smiling as he felt the velvet box brush against his hand. Four hours ago, he was beating himself up over not making it in time for her birthday. Now, he was a cab away from making good on his promise.

A cab pulled up and a scruffy driver looked out at him from the window. "Where to?"

"5 Morton Street, please," Mike replied amiably as he got in, dragging his bag inside with him. He huffed and lay back on the seat, all of a sudden overwhelmed by all the running he'd just done.

Forty-five minutes in and he was starting to get restless from the traffic.

"How long until we get there?" he said, a little agitated.

Ten minutes once we're past this street."

"Alright, ten minutes," he took out the box from his jacket pocket and smiled to himself as he opened it for the umpteenth time, looking at the diamond tennis bracelet inside. He could've gotten her something better, he knew that, and she preferred rings, but all the same this seemed fancy enough and she sometimes liked fancy things. He hoped she would like this one, too. It took him a day to convince himself he couldn't give her a ring. At least, not right now. Not when he was still married. And that would be _too_ spontaneous, right?

He busied himself with the discourse in his head, not realizing that his cellphone had been ringing.

"You gunna get that?" the driver asked, gruffly.

"Oh, sorry," he put the box back in his pocket and hurriedly took out his phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mike, it's Ross."

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just thought I'd ask if you've already greeted Phoebe. It's her birthday today, you know," Ross said, very mellow.

"I know," Mike chuckled. "I'm on my way to her apartment now. I kinda want to surprise her."

"Oh, great! That's great! So, you _will_ be here, then!"

Mike heard Rachel's voice over Ross. ' _Is that Mike?_ _Put me on._ '

"Hi, Mike!" she chirped happily on the phone. "Are you coming?"

"Hi, Rach! Yea, I'm on my way to Phoebe's…"

"We're all at Central Perk," she cut him off.

"Oh, er—is she there with you?"

"Well, she went to see her sister right now. But she's coming back in a bit. We're gunna hang at Chandler and Monica's…"

' _We have cake!_ ' Joey cried out excitedly in the background.

"Bedford St., please, I'm sorry," he tapped the driver on the shoulder. The man just nodded back. "Okay, Rach, could you do me a favor and not tell her that I'm coming? I kind of want it to be a surprise."

"Oh. Well, alright," she answered, just as Monica's voice called out behind her followed by the others. ' _Hi, Phoebs…_ '

"Gotta go—"

The receiver went dead in a beat and he smiled. Ten minutes and he would be there to spend her birthday with her, just like he promised.

The cab rounded down the corner and parked. Mike took a couple bills out of his wallet and handed it to the driver. He ran across the street, unmindful of the other cars whizzing past him, and paused for a breath just as he reached the other side.

Mike raised his head and saw Joey and Phoebe talking on the sidewalk. He raised his hand, beaming wide, but was still too out of breath to call out to the other two.

"Close your eyes," Joey said to her, just as the street started to empty out.

Mike froze as he watched the scene in front of him. He watched how wide she smiled back at Joey as he gently pulled away.

"Maybe, that's one thing you can cross off your list," Joey said, grinning at her, meaningfully.

Mike turned away, clutching at his chest. He had to leave. He had to get away from there. He had to stop himself before he would get too far.

He turned down a sharp corner and didn't look back. If she had called out to him, he wouldn't have heard. He wouldn't have heard anything. In another time and place, if he'd seen this, it probably wouldn't have mattered. But now, it did and it shouldn't. That was nothing. There was nothing going on between Phoebe and Joey, he knew that.

'I'm fine,' he kept walking. 'It was nothing. That was nothing.'

He walked away as fast as his legs could carry him. If he hadn't run, maybe he wouldn't have seen it. If he'd been late by just a couple minutes, maybe he wouldn't be standing in the middle of the city right now with no idea where he was going. But he was there, just like he promised, he didn't miss her birthday.

The stabbing sensation in his chest built up and his eyes started to sting. He looked behind him, toward the coffeehouse, toward the apartment building, toward Phoebe and Joey and Ross, Monica, Rachel, and Chandler. He'd call them tomorrow and say they had left when he got there, that he'd missed Phoebe's birthday and they wouldn't know that he didn't. They wouldn't know he had been there.

He looked up toward the sky and held back his tears, wishing with all his heart that he hadn't made it.

#

 **Author's Note:** Okay, please know that I have nothing against Phoebe/Joey. As this is an AU story, all based on Mike's POV, this is merely how I thought he'd react if he'd been there. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. If I upset anyone, please know that I'm sorry and I didn't mean it.


	4. F1: The One Where All The Moms Were Away

**Author's** **Note:** So, I haven't figured out how to continue this story yet, but there's a bunch of scenes I wanted to write about the guys and their kids, and instead of making another fic, I thought I'll just affix this. Not so much of a plot going on as mainly just how I imagine them going about their lives as parents. Focused on the dads and the daughters as filler. I hope I'd get an idea for an actual chapter soon, but here's this for now.

* * *

 **FILLER 1: THE ONE WHERE THE MOMS WERE AWAY FOR A DAY  
**

Erica read the box a fifteenth time, but could barely see the instructions with the soapy water stinging her eyes. The color was supposed to have set already, and she had already applied and rinsed enough times for all of her hair to fall off – which she hoped wouldn't happen, but at this rate, who could say anymore? The sink was covered in black splotches and her mom would definitely kill her if she came home earlier than expected.

The doorknob turned and got stuck midway, prompting Chandler to knock.

"Hello? Who's in there? Dad's got to use the bathroom-," he called out.

"Dad?" Erica answered with a slight tremor, "Erm, could you… could you use the one downstairs please? I can't get out yet."

"Oh, okay, honey, sorry—"

Chandler turned around, away from the bathroom door, but almost crashed into Ross.

"Jeez, what the hell, man?"

"What, you didn't hear me?"

"No, I actually like crashing into people who sneak up behind me," Chandler quipped before rolling his eyes. "Of course, I didn't hear you!"

"You know it would be easier if you just answered the question," Ross retorted.

"What do you want?"

"I can't get my computer to connect to the Internet," he pointed to the laptop tucked under his arm. "Can I use yours? I just… I promised Ben I'm gunna give him a call today."

"So, call him on the phone—"

"No," Ross let out a small laugh, as if holding his patience in. "No, no, I meant video call."

"Really? It's 11AM on a Saturday. You sure he wants to talk to you?" Chandler teased, walking over to get his laptop from inside the dresser. "Password is M-O-M-M-Y-C-A-"

Ross took a second. "Mommyca?"

"Yea, that was Erica's first word," Chandler smiled.

A scream from inside the bathroom threw them both off; hurriedly, they ran toward the door and knocked furiously.

"Erica! Honey, what's going on in there?! Open up!" Chandler worriedly called out to his daughter. Ross was yelling at her to open the door as well.

"No! Erm—I mean, erm… I'm fine! It's nothing," her voice was trembling, clearly stifling back sobs, Chandler can tell.

"Open the door, honey, please! What's going on?"

Erica didn't answer for a while but her dad and Uncle Ross kept knocking. Her hands were shaking as she stared at the disaster in the mirror opposite her, but she didn't know what else she could do. Sighing, she looked at the doorknob and decided she needed help.

"Okay, but promise not to laugh—"

Chandler was taken aback by the statement, still worried but somehow less so after hearing it.

"Okay, I… we promise. Open the door please."

She stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes welling up and her lip quivering. Her natural blonde hair was now a deep, dark black at the roots to almost mid-length and still noticeably dirty yellow at the tips. One of Monica's pristine Pottery Barn cotton towels hung around her shoulders, stained with black dye.

Chandler stared in disbelief.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, dad. What am I gunna do?" Erica sobbed.

"Oh my g—," he whispered in reply, "—the… the bathroom. Your mom's gunna kill me."

"Huh?" Erica wiped her tears with the back of her hand, "Daddy, my hair… look at my hair."

Chandler shifted his eyes toward her and seemed to study her head before sighing.

"Yea, okay, honey, I get it. Your hair looks fantastic, but what are we going to do about this mess?"

"Erm… okay…" Ross piped up awkwardly, making his way to the door, "I'll be er—I'll be at the den. You look cute, sweetheart," he smiled at his niece and patted Chandler on the back. "Good luck, man."

The other two followed him with their eyes quietly as he walked out of the bedroom.

"What, exactly, were you doing in here?" Chandler turned to his daughter once Ross was gone.

"I was just… I thought of dyeing my hair," Erica replied, sniffling, "I swear I was gunna clean up after, Dad, but—"

"But what?"

"Well, look at me!"

"I am looking at you!"

Erica tugged at her blonde tips and whimpered, stunned at how oblivious her father was.

"I messed up my hair!" she began sobbing again.

Chandler stared at her, mouth agape, completely clueless about what to say.

"This-," he finally attempted after a moment, "—this wasn't the style you were going for?"

"No, of course not. It was supposed to go full brunette. I wanted to-" she bit her lip before she could finish her sentence.

"You wanted to…? Speak up, young lady," Chandler raised his voice, uncharacteristically stern now that he was totally confused.

"I wanted to… look like mom…" Erica mumbled in reply.

Chandler stood unmoving when he heard the words come out of his daughter's mouth. The look on her face was a blend of embarrassed, disappointed, and utterly frightened – all summing up into sad tears streaking down from her eyes.

"The kids at school—"

"What about the kids at school?"

"They were making fun of me…"

"What are you talking about?"

Erica sighed, a little hesitant but answered nonetheless.

"The kids at school… they said Mom and you would be better off returning me because I'm not pretty. They said I don't look like either one of you because I'm adopted. So, I thought… I mean, Jack has brown hair like you so he can stay but I'm… I don't-,"

She sighed.

"—I thought if I dyed my hair black, I could pass off as Mom's daughter… because then, I'd be brunette like her. Even if I can't be pretty like her."

He could have sworn he felt a big shard of his heart fall off, hearing her.

"Now, I look stupid…" she cried, burying her head into her hands.

Without another word, he kneeled down and scooped her in his arms, her shoulder shaking against his chest. He wanted so badly to ask her which kids she was talking about so he can go to their houses right then and give each one a good slap against the head, but that wouldn't help anyone, and Monica was capable of worse things if she knew about this. The school would definitely be hearing from them on Monday, though, he resolved that.

"I'm sorry, Daddy…" she sobbed, prompting Chandler back to his senses.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart, and you don't look stupid. Listen—," he held her gently by the shoulders so she would look at him eye-to-eye.

"—first, you are _our_ daughter, okay? You are _my_ daughter and you're your mom's daughter. There's no question about that and there will never be, do you hear me?"

Erica nodded with a sniffle, wiped her eyes with the heels of her hand.

"Second, you are not as pretty or as special as any of those other kids because you are a heck of a lot more than they are. You are more special, more intelligent, more beautiful—,"

Chandler smiled at his daughter, his eyes welling up a little as much as he tried to fight it.

"—and you have the most wonderful heart any girl could have. And that's something Monica, remember her? Your mother? That's something you've inherited from her. Maybe not her face or her hair color, but her heart, and that's so much more important. You are everything and more than we could ever ask for…"

A spark of gratitude glimmered in Erica's eyes, assuring Chandler. She embraced her father tightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you, tyke," Chandler sighed contentedly.

"I love you, too, Dad," she whispered in his ear.

"I actually think it looks really cool. You're setting a trend," he said encouragingly after she finally let go.

His face suddenly turned playfully stern and he looked over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

"That said, we still have this mess to clean up, young lady."

 **#**

Sophie raised her face toward the sun, warming herself with the bright, yellow rays as they fell gently on her skin. She shut her eyes tighter and stretched out her arms to her sides, opening her palms wide and catching the light, like her mommy would say. 'Catch the light, Sophie,' she would tell her, ' _Vas-y! Vole vers le ciel, ma chèrie!_ '

On a lounge chair just a couple steps away, Mike felt himself reflect the smile on his daughter's face as he watched her proudly. Little fingers stretching out and curling back into her palms, and he laughed a little knowing exactly what she was doing. The beams shone about her, settling comfortably on the fibers of her strawberry pink sweater and on the loose yellow curls sticking out from her pigtails; she looked as though she were emanating the sun. Back in the city, spring was about as good as any season seemed to be, which was obviously not saying much. But here, in the Bing family's backyard on a Saturday morning, he actually felt and saw the difference.

He grabbed a handful of almonds from the deck table beside him, contemplating about moving to the suburbs when Chandler stepped out onto the patio, a can of beer in each hand. Chace came running out after towards Sophie. Electric blue eyes shining in excitement and wavy chestnut hair plopping as he went - 'like Chandler's hair used to,' Phoebe always remarked.

"Here you go, man," Chandler proffered him one.

Mike popped the tab open, watching along as Chace plucked a daffodil from Monica's collection of perennials and handed it to his daughter. He raised an eyebrow at Chandler, who choked slightly on his beer.

"Hey, don't look at me. That's all him," Chandler raised both hands.

Mike rolled his eyes, snickering. "Right," he took a swig of beer.

"Does that look like something _I_ would have been able to pull off? You _know_ me, Mike."

He let out a little laugh. "I'm not saying anything."

Chandler chuckled, reclining on his chair. "That confidence is all his mother's," he nodded encouragingly at his son and turned to Mike, winking. "So, if you've got a problem, bring it up to her."

Mike shifted his attention back to the toddlers playing tag across the yard. Happy squeals merging with the chirruping of birds in the background, and his little girl, running around the garden, across the bright colors of the flowers about her.

"They're growing so fast, huh?"

"Too fast, actually."

"Right? I mean, just the other day, I saw the kid looking at the classifieds—"

"Chace can read those already?" Mike asked, a little surprised.

"No, I don't think so. I'd left doodles on the paper. He told me he thought it was the comic page."

"Oh—"

"Still, he knows what he wants enough to get it himself."

Mike smirked, shaking his head. Across the lawn, Sophie carefully coerced the butterfly that had landed on Chace's shoulder onto her finger. ' _Un papillon, Dada_ ,' she mouthed to him, excitedly, and he beamed in response, before casting his eyes to the ground.

"Sophie's seemed to be taking on the best of you guys, too, every time you bring her around. Sweet girl," Chandler smiled.

"Thanks," Mike took a swig of beer.

"Like Brianna at that age, huh?"

Mike raised his head, a thoughtful look on his face. Chandler swiveled his head, letting out a nervous laugh as he immediately realized what he just said. He shook his head, as though trying to erase the uncomfortable silence.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Mike smiled weakly. "And she is," he added, in an effort to alleviate Chandler's discomfort, "—she's a lot like Brianna was. Both of them are more Phoebe than me, which is great," he laughed.

Chandler patted him on the shoulder, hesitating.

"You still think about her?"

"I do," a beat, "Everyday, I still do. Makes me scared everyday that I'd lose Phoebe or either one of the kids again but…it's become a bit easier now, I guess."

He turned his attention away, effectively cutting the topic, and nodded instead toward the kids, holding hands while walking toward them.

"Seriously, man, I'm telling you, this kid better not be making the moves on my little girl—"

"Wh-what?"

"If he didn't look so much like you, I'd swear he's Joey's kid."

"Hey, she's Phoebe's daughter, okay? You're one to talk."

" _J'ai soif, dada_ ," Sophie said, resting against her father's leg.

"Still speaking French, huh?" Chandler remarked and Mike nodded with a smirk.

Chace pulled at Chandler's arm to whisper something, while Mike pulled out two juice boxes from the bag right by his chair.

"Okay, sweetie, which one'll it be? Orange or apple?"

Sophie pointed at one and he obliged, peeling off the paper wrapping from the straw and handing it to her.

"She's just thirsty," Mike shrugged. "Would you like some orange juice, Chace?"

He turned toward Chandler, as he offered the other juice box to the little boy.

"What was he whispering about? Is he thirsty too?"

"No, he says he doesn't understand what Sophie's saying."

Mike snickered. Chace grabbed the other juice box and started peeling off the wrapping himself.

"Oh, would you look at that? Big man setting up his own juice box right here!" Chandler exclaimed, giving his son a high-five, before turning his attention back to Mike.

"So, I take it you guys are still in the French phase? I mean, can she speak at least a little English?"

"I talk English, too, Uncle Chand," Sophie piped up.

"Yea, she talks in English, too, Uncle Chand-" Mike backed, causing his daughter to giggle. "-but, yea, we're slowly getting her back to English. She's going to preschool in a couple months so Phoebe finally let up."

"Jeez," Chandler shook his head. "I remember when you guys had us babysit MJ that one time. I had to buy a used foreign dictionary just to understand him. Cost me more than 30 bucks!"

Mike snickered, his eyes unintentionally glued to his daughter who was sipping on her apple juice quietly.

"To be honest, I don't even think she needs to go yet."

"You nervous?" Chandler smirked.

"Tsk. Always-"

"You'll get over it. You got over it with MJ."

"I guess," Mike lightly pressed a kiss on his daughter's head, "Still doesn't make me any less worried."

"What? That she'd grow up too fast and wouldn't need you anymore?"

They watched as Chace ran back to the grass and called out for Sophie to follow him. The little girl started to walk toward him before Mike noticed her untied shoelaces. Quickly, he moved to help her, but her tiny hand held onto his before he can start.

" _J'peux, dada_ —" her smile curved as though she was keeping a secret from him.

Mike stared on as her little fingers fiddled with the laces, shakily looping them into each other until she finally pulled them into a little bow. Sophie stood up and giggled at her astonished father before running away toward Chace. He stayed kneeling on the ground, wordlessly surprised.

Chandler patted him on the back, smiling. "Your face pretty much answers my question."

#

Emma gave herself one more look in the mirror before deciding she looked fine. Fine enough? She wasn't actually sure, but this was pretty much everything she can do at the moment. Her mom had picked out her clothes, but she insisted on doing her own hair and makeup, and now there was no turning back. She didn't do a bad job, probably not as good as her mom would have done, but all the same. It was a miracle she even allowed her.

' _Well, here goes…_ ' she whispered to herself.

The phone in her purse started ringing, throwing her off her thoughts, and she laughed a little when she saw who it was on the caller ID.

"Hi, mom—"

"Hi, sweetie!" Rachel greeted excitedly on the other end. Phoebe and Monica chirped their hello's in the background as well.

"How's it going?"

"Good…"

"Did you wear the dress I picked out?"

"Yes, mom, I did."

"Well, take a picture and send it over so I can see. Is your dad there?"

"No, I'm still in the bathroom actually."

"Oh, okay. I thought your date was at 3."

Emma glanced at the chain watch her Aunt Monica gave her. 3PM.

"Yea, erm, I'm just waiting for him to call. He hasn't… called yet."

"Alright, well, put your dad on the line so I can talk to him about this chaperoning thing. Trust me, honey, it's gunna take another—"

She hesitated. "I actually erm… I haven't told him about the date."

A slight fuzz on the line before she heard her mom's voice again.

"I'm sorry, honey, what was that? The reception's a little bad here."

"I haven't told… Hello? Mom? Can you hear me?"

A second of fuzz again.

"Honey, are you still there?"

"Yea, mom, still here."

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I said I haven't told Dad that I'm going on a date yet."

A beat.

"Emma…"

"Well, I was gunna tell him…"

"When?"

"Right before you called. I was about to go out of the bathroom."

She heard her mother sigh at the other end.

"Honey, you just got us into so much trouble."

"You think he'll be upset?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you don't even know half of it—"

The line garbled before completely cutting her mother's voice, and Emma could almost swear the last thing she heard from the other end was ' _He will be_.' She let out a deep exhale and looked at herself one last time, grabbed her purse and went out of the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Ross fiddled with the wires one more time in an effort to get a clearer picture on the screen.

"Okay, I think this would fix it," he grimaced, plugging a cord into the laptop again.

"Listen, Dad, I gotta go. We'll do this again soon, okay?" Ben said from the computer screen.

"No, wait. It's fixed now, see?"

The screen crumpled and broke again into pixels, and Ross cursed under his breath.

"Hug Emma and Nicky for me, okay? I love you guys. I'll talk to you again soon."

The picture suddenly became clearer and Ross finally saw his son on the opposite end, smiling at him.

"Hey," Joey greeted loudly as he walked into the kitchen, "—is that Ben?"

He got a Snapple from the fridge and walked over behind the barstool Ross was sitting on to give a quick wave to the screen.

"Hey, Ben! Told your dad already, huh?"

Ross turned toward Joey, confused. "Told me what?"

"Uncle Joey!"

Joey's eyes widened into shock and he immediately scooted away to leave the room.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Joey!" Ross called out after him.

The computer screen was already blank by the time he turned around to ask Ben. He didn't even notice Emma walking into the room.

"Hi, dad."

"Hi, sweetie," he said without looking up, "Listen, do you know something about Ben that he's not telling me?"

He carried on trying to connect to video conference but the reception wasn't letting him anymore. ' _Damn internet_!'

"I don't… think so," she hesitated.

"The stupid thing won't connect," Ross sighed, "I'll just give him a call again later."

He looked up finally at his daughter and was slightly taken aback. Emma looked exactly like Rachel, he noted, smiling. Hopeful eyes, shy smile, and pretty much everything. She was all Rachel.

"What?"

Ross beamed at her tenderly. "Nothing, it's just that you look—," he coughed, "— you look really nice, sweetheart."

Emma smiled sweetly at him in reply.

"Aren't you too dressed up to go to the movies though? I mean, it's just you and a bunch of friends, right?"

He closed the lid on the laptop and made his way to the foyer to get his keys, Emma following after him.

"Yea, dad, I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that-"

"Yea?"

"I'm not going to the movies with friends. I'm going with Logan."

Ross took a second and Emma gulped in her nerves.

"Wait, I'm sorry, what?"

"Logan. I'm going to the movies with him," she said nervously, adding, "His mom will be there as chaperone."

Ross stared at her in disbelief, his mouth agape, and she stood in front of him with her eyes pinned at her feet. The multicolored metallic polish Aunt Phoebe applied to her toenails the night before glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and looked really cute with the white designer sandals her mom let her borrow, but she couldn't think about that right now. She had to think of something to say to fill the silence. Something else to say.

"I'm really sorry, dad," she finally whispered and looked up at him. "I didn't want to tell you before because I knew it would upset you."

Ross let out a deep exhale and started pacing the room. "You didn't tell me because… you thought you'd upset me… huh."

"Dad, I know this wouldn't help anything but—" she took his hand, "—I promise I'll be good, okay? I really, _really_ like Logan, but I _swear_ I'll be good."

The doorbell rang before he could think of anything to reply with. Emma's eyes were all but pleading him to say something. He turned around and sighed, managing a straight face before he opened the door.

"Hi!"

A petite African-American woman dressed in jeans and a caramel-coloured cardigan stood on the porch in front of him. She smiled graciously, hand neatly placed on the shoulder of the teenage boy beside her. He was tall, with tight curls, grey eyes, and dimples.

Ross felt his heart pumping against his chest.

"I am Cynthia, Logan's mom. You must be Emma's father."

"Yes, I am… Ross, Emma's dad."

Logan stretched his arm out for a handshake. "Nice to meet you, sir."

He looked back at him intently for a moment, thoughts of Rachel's dad suddenly swirling in his head. Logan seemed like a behaved-enough young man, he thought.

' _They all seem behaved-enough_ ,' Dr. Green's voice bellowed in his head, and he snapped himself out of it.

Ross shook the boy's hand in return. "Nice to meet you, Logan. Give me a second, I'll just call Emma."

He turned around and smiled weakly at his daughter. Emma felt her heart skip a beat.

'Go,' he mouthed quietly, and nodded toward the door.

She beamed and walked over, exchanging greetings with Cynthia and Logan.

"So, should we go?" Cynthia piped up, cheerfully, and the two teenagers nodded in reply.

Ross watched as his daughter walked off, his heart practically in pieces over his feet. The car sped away and his eyes chased after it as it turned around the block.

"Tough, huh?" Joey's voice sounded behind him, and he turned around toward his friend.

"I didn't think anyone else but her mother could break my heart," Ross sighed.

"I know," Joey nodded. "Wait, until she gets married though."

#

Joey closed his eyes and exhaled – theatrically, perhaps, but he was in no mood to overanalyze it. Gingerly, he closed the book and whispered.

"The end…"

He opened his eyes, beaming, expecting the three boys were all soundly asleep by then. They were staring at him, bored, instead.

"That's it?" Nicky asked, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you mean? I think it's a good book. I've never read this to you guys before—"

"It's 'Green Eggs and Ham,' Uncle Joey. Everybody's read it like a thousand times," Jack replied, matter-of-factly, "Besides, we're too grown up to fall asleep to some bedtime story."

"Uh-huh, yep. I second that," MJ nodded, giving Jack a high-five.

"Hey, you were asleep a minute ago," Joey exclaimed at the boy in reply.

"No, I was listening to Bach," he raised his earphones as proof, "I already know this story."

Joey sighed in defeat. "Listen, you guys, your moms are gunna be here any minute and it's already way past your bedtime—"

"How about another game, Uncle Joe? That'll make me fall asleep!"

Jack stood up from his bed, casting the comforter away, and was about to walk toward the closet to get the game console out, but Joey stopped him in his tracks.

"Nuh-ah, no. No more videogames. You promised your dad you won't be this difficult."

"But-"

"We're not sleepy yet, Uncle Joey," Nicky piped up.

He looked at the three boys who were silently pleading at him with their eyes, suddenly finding it very hard to say no again.

"Oh, man! Erm—" he thought of something else to distract him before he could say yes. "Erm… how about… how about we just put Bach on speaker, huh, MJ?"

"I won't fall asleep to that!"

"Yes, but they will," Joey nodded toward Jack and Nicky, "then you won't have anyone to play with and you'll fall asleep, too."

"Just one more game, Uncle Joey," Nicky pleaded.

"Er—" he fidgeted from his position, scared about losing his 'Cool Uncle' title if he denied them this. He took a moment to think.

"Alright, tell you what. If you guys give me this one tiny request that you fall asleep now, I will…" he paused, "… let all three of you take a spin on my Ferrari in the summer. How's that sound?"

"Really?" the three boys asked, wide-eyed and excited.

"Sure! And hey, whoever falls asleep first, gets to drive it around the block!"

"Awesome!"

"Right! First one to go to sleep wins, okay?" Joey grinned at them as he turned off the light. "Good night, you guys."

He shut the door closed and exhaled in relief. Mission accomplished. He raised his head up and saw Mike resting with his back against the hallway wall, head tilted in curiosity.

"Do you really have a Ferrari back in L.A.?"

Joey looked at him, at a loss for what to say, before settling with the truth. "Pft… no."

"Ha, and what are you planning on telling them in the summer?"

"They'll forget about it by then… right?"

Mike smirked in reply.

"I'll… I'll think of something. Don't worry about it," Joey waved him off.

They went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge before walking out and sitting on the porch. Joey's phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out to read the text message.

"That Chandler?" Mike asked, taking a swig.

"Yea, he's stuck in traffic."

"Oh, he hasn't picked them up yet?"

"No, I don't think so," Joey snickered, "Monica's _not_ gunna be happy."

"Well, he did leave thirty minutes after she told him to pick them up," Mike agreed, "Safe to say, we can all guess what's coming."

Joey glanced at his watch. 10:00 already. A rundown Chevy drove past them down the street and parked in front of the house next door. He eyed it for a second, but paid it no mind. He never stayed in New York long enough anymore to actually get to know the neighbors anyway.

"So, where's Ross?" he asked, shifting his attention back to Mike.

"In the den, talking with Emma."

"Oh," Joey let out a little laugh, "how's she taking it?"

"I don't know. They seemed fine. What, you know what it's about?"

"Let's just say someone didn't tell her dad she was going on her first date today," Joey shrugged.

Mike raised his eyebrows in concern. "Oh… that's harsh."

"You should've seen the look on Ross's face. He didn't take it well."

"I can imagine—"

"You guys have it tough," Joey gulped the rest of his beer down, "I think I'd be able to raise sons, but little girls?" he shook his head, "I can't even begin to think about it."

He crushed the can of beer under his foot and was playing with it, when Mike's phone suddenly started ringing.

"It's Phoebe. I'm gunna take this inside," Mike excused himself.

"Yea, sure, go ahead."

Joey stared at the pavement, the compressed metal sliding in between his fingers. He thought about home, and suddenly felt like he didn't want to go back to L.A. the following week. He'd missed New York, missed his friends, missed his friends' kids, and he knew he was gunna have to deal with a bout of homesickness anew once he flies back there. New York wasn't his home now, L.A. was, but the thought of living in an empty house all by himself again made him nothing but miserable. He'd miss the noise again, miss the kids running around yelling his name.

"Joey Tribbiani?"

A voice suddenly sounded, throwing him off his thoughts, and he realized there was a pair of Converse-wrapped feet right in front of him. Joey looked up.

"Yea?"

She was a pretty girl – average height, with dark brown eyes, cropped jet black hair, and a huge, warm smile. She looked no more than nineteen, twenty tops, in a green flannel shirt and ripped up jeans.

"Wow, you're… you're really Joey Tribbiani, huh?"

"Yep, that's right, I am," he smiled hesitantly, standing up from where he was sitting.

"I am _such_ a huge fan."

"Really? That's… that's great to know," he turned his head sideways, checking if she came over with someone. "You from around here?"

"No, actually, I'm from Chicago. But my mom's from New Jersey, used to work in Manhattan."

"Oh," Joey nodded, a little suspicious, but he managed to beam nonetheless. "Don't get me wrong though, but isn't it a little late to be hunting down celebrities?"

She looked back at him for a second, something in her eyes glimmering, before she glanced away.

"Right, yea. I'm sorry. It's just that… I saw you and I wanted to say hello and…" she shifted her gaze slightly behind her, "…actually, that's my car back there so… I just… I just really wanted to say hello."

Joey recognized the Chevy that drove past a few moments ago.

"Okay, well… hello," he smiled warmly at her, reaching his arm out for a handshake. "Sorry, I don't think I got your name."

She stared at his hand for a good long moment before clasping it in her own.

"I'm Meagan," she said, shaking his hand firmly. She stared intently into his eyes, her face now completely expressionless.

"I'm your daughter."


End file.
